Deals with a Demon
by Kurisuten-chan
Summary: Every single Avenger has, at some point in their life, made a Deal at Death's crossroads. These Deals have all cost them something dire. (Starts out as mainly Tony and Steve, but will include a lot of other characters [Clint, Coulson, Natasha, Bruce, Thor, Pepper, Rhodey, Fury, and Hill] - they've all made a Deal.)


**Kuri:** I don't own Avengers. I wish I did, very badly. But I don't. Anyway.

**Warnings:** Discussion of depression and suicidal thoughts. Later chapters will include mentions (nothing graphic) of child abuse, and rape.

This also may include some Steve/Tony and Clint/Coulson.

* * *

**Deals with a Demon**

**- Chapter 1 -**

* * *

Tony Stark's eyes shot open, his body drenched in sweat and his mind racing a mile a minute. His hands twisted in the dark red sheets on his bed, his knuckles turning white from the strength of his grip. His breathing was ragged and his dark eyes looked haunted – conflicted as he propped himself up against the headboard of his bed, his face tense from some internal struggle. He flinched, an action caused by no obvious external factor.

_-not again not tonight I won't let you I won't I can't why why why WHY WHY-_

Tony abruptly stumbled out of his bed, tripping over the bed sheets, but not falling, his death grip on the blankets loosening until they slid from his grasp onto the tan carpeting of his bedroom floor. He felt his way roughly down the hallway, his movements the semblance of a drunken haze, despite the fact that he was completely sober.

His inelegant feet nonetheless guided him to a familiar door, to The Room. His fingers fumbled as they tried to punch in the access code, trembling the entire time. The lock slid open with a soft click that seemed to Tony like thunder in the silent hall. With shaking hands, he pushed the door open, walking unsteadily but hastily into the old lab.

The scientist paid no mind to the sheets of paper, the pens, and the ink stains spotting the floor, nor to the designs hanging on the walls of the lab. He paid no heed to anything at all, his eyes pained and unseeing as he stumbled forwards, collapsing at the desk at the far end of the room, his hands clutching around blindly for something to write with.

Tony worked with tremor ridden hands throughout the night, his pen scratching harshly over the paper, his teeth worrying his lower lip until it began to bleed. And when it was finally complete, the emotion overcame him – the anger, the pain, the guilt – and his vision was overshadowed by a red haze, his mind only vaguely aware of his body's furious actions.

When the fog cleared, he could do nothing but stare at the shredded pieces of the design, his hands once again trembling. Those shaking hands moved again of their own will, delicately arranging the strips of paper like a jigsaw puzzle, taping them back together slowly with willing hands and a trapped conscience. Once it was whole again, Tony jumped to his feet, backpedaling ungracefully out of the room, tripping over his chair and practically running back to his room.

He made a beeline for the bathroom, emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet before staggering back to his bed and collapsing in a trembling heap.

* * *

Tony awoke slowly the next morning. His heart clenched painfully at the memory of the previous night and he had to close his eyes again and breathe deeply in order to center himself again, his fists once again gripping the bed sheets with brutal force.

God, everything had been going fine, going _brilliantly_, actually. It'd been months since his last episode, not since before the Loki incident and the Avengers, the longest he'd gone since, well, _ever_. This episode wasn't the worst he'd had – not as bad as they had been with the palladium poisoning – but it was different now.

It was different because there was so much more at stake now. Having the other Avengers living in Stark Tower was a dream come true, but if one of them found out… if Bruce or Thor or Clint or Natasha or, God, if _Steve_…

He could see their disgusted looks in his mind's eye, cold and judging. Maybe Romanov or Barton would understand, considering the nature of their professions, but even then they'd have to report to Fury, he was sure.

Tony lay there in his bed, unmoving, for a few more minutes, his brain running through all of the worst case scenarios in gruesome detail, making his stomach clench with guilt. He eventually managed to pull himself to his feet.

Time to start another day.

* * *

Steve couldn't help but notice that Tony was acting oddly. He'd only known the man for a few weeks, but he could tell that something was _not right_. It wasn't uncommon for Tony to pull all nighters, sometimes for days in a row even, but never had Steve seen such _tiredness_ in Tony's expression. Steve was no stranger to guilt and he was startled when, one morning, he'd turned to greet Tony as he entered the kitchen, only to find such crushing _guilt_ in the other's eyes… It reminded him of soldiers he'd seen, particularly of young ones who'd just killed someone in combat. It reminded him of Barton when he'd gotten a hold of the list of names of the people who'd died in his attack on the helicarrier.

He'd never expected to see that sort of expression on Tony's face.

Later that day, he'd gently asked Pepper about it, not wanting to scare or worry her, but at the same time not wanting to risk missing any signs that Tony might be depressed and need help. Pepper's own eyes had darkened in sadness once Steve had told her about his encounter with Tony and she'd made him a warm mug of coffee and explained to him about Tony's past as a weapons manufacturer and how much guilt he still carried because of it. She'd been watching Tony carefully, though, and it just seemed to be worse on some days than on others. She'd then smiled a little brokenly at Steve and told him that if he'd like, she'd appreciate his help keeping an eye on Tony. Steve readily agreed.

But it wasn't until about three days later that Steve noticed anything again. Steve had woken up at around 2:18 am his bladder screaming at him. After using the bathroom, Steve had taken a detour to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He wasn't expecting to see Tony staggering down a different hallway. Steve, confused, followed after him. The super solider kept his distance, moving as silently as possible, although it probably wasn't necessary, considering the way Tony seemed focused only on getting to his destination, wherever that was.

Finally, Tony stumbled to a halt at a nondescript looking door, shakily punching in the passcode and lunging inside, the door snapping shut behind him. According to JARVIS, Tony didn't leave until 4:49 am.

Tony's visits to the strange room continued irregularly. Sometimes it'd be within a day, sometimes an entire week would pass without incident, but with each visit to The Room, Steve noticed Tony looking more and more depressed and on edge. Steve needed to do something about this.

* * *

Tony woke slowly to the sound of someone pounding on his door. Tony's sleep fogged mind tried to register why someone would be knocking at his door. Normally he left it unlocked… The genius looked around for his alarm clock, wondering what time it was. That was when he realized that he wasn't in his bedroom. No, he was in The Room. Tony bolted upright out of the chair that he had fallen asleep in, once again tripping over the chair and falling into a heap on the floor. He scrambled back to his feet, wondering what he should do. Who could be knocking at this door? He was the only one who knew about this room!

Tony steeled himself, tensing as he looked towards the door. Maybe he could just open the door quickly and get out, slamming the door closed again before whoever it was could see what was inside. It was worth a shot…

However, Tony was not expecting _Captain America_ to push past him into the room the instant he opened the doorway. Tony watched helplessly, his mind in a panic, as Steve took in the room, eyes widening in shock as he saw the grotesque weapons designs covering every available surface in the room, taped to the walls, strewn over the floor, nailed to the ceiling. Steve made a choked sound, his mouth opening to say something, but no coherent words formed. Steve pinned Tony with a hurt and confused look before shaking his head and moving to the door.

In a panicked haze, Tony blurted out the only thing explanation that came to mind. The truth.

"It's because I made a deal with a demon!"

Never in any of Tony's scenarios did he imagine that those words would make Captain America stop and turn back to him with a look of _understanding_.

"I-I can explain…" Tony stuttered, unsure how, exactly, to continue. How to begin.

He looked carefully into Steve's eyes, taking in the closely guarded expression on the other's face. Steve's eyes were cold, dispassionate. Guarded and slightly suspicious. But behind that mask, Tony detected a flicker of…_something_. Pain, maybe, but he couldn't be sure. Pity? That might make a bit of sense. Steve had made it fairly clear that he was religious, even if he didn't exactly shove it in your face. If he believed it God, then it wasn't too much of a stretch to assume he also believed in Hell and demons. That didn't necessarily bode all that well for Tony, though. He didn't think that Cap would scorn him as something satanic if he hadn't already, but he held no illusions that Steve wouldn't look at him differently now, and not in a good way. _God_, and things were – they were finally starting to _work_…

"I know it may sound kind of crazy," Tony said, averting his eyes from Steve and running a hand through his hair in an uncommonly self conscious gesture, "but, hey. We live with a Norse god, after all."

Whatever remnants of humor had been in Tony's statement fell utterly flat, sounding just a hint hysterical. Steve's expression softened around the edges slightly.

"I had no clue what I was doing, not really," Tony blabbered on. "I mean, a shadowy person freezes time, sure let's make a deal with them!"

"Tony-"

"Of course! Why not! I mean, you'll die anyway, so what's a little agreement with someone whose _species_ you don't even know!"

"Tony-"

"Fuck, some _genius _I was-"

"Tony!"

The disoriented man felt a firm hand grip his shoulder and guide him over to a chair, settling him down in it with surprising gentleness. The room around him was still masked in a strange haze and he heard a rough wheezing coming from somewhere nearby. His chest felt tight and his throat dry and nothing was making sense anymore and what was happening –

"Breathe. No – just…breathe," a voice commanded softly.

Tony blinked. Oh. The wheezing sound was him.

"You don't need to explain anything to me right now. Everything's okay. Just calm down."

As Tony's breathing evened out, the world began to come back into focus and his tired eyes began to paste together the picture of Steve kneeling in front of him, calmly gripping Tony's hands and steadily observing Tony's own expression, no fear or anger in his face, just patience.

"I-" Tony began again once the hyperventilation stopped, only to be hushed by Steve.

"Just listen," he said evenly. "I am not going to hurt you; I am not going to reject you; I am not going to judge you. I trust that there was a good reason for the Deal you made. And I trust that if you regret it now, then you've certainly paid for it in full."

-_no no NO what are you DOING that's lithium you're going to blow us all up stop STOP STOP-_

Tony licked his lips.

"I don't regret it."

"Neither do I," Steve replied.

Tony's gaze shot back to up to lock with Steve's, disbelieving and confused, but he could only find utter seriousness in Steve's eyes.

"What…?" he began, unsure how to continue. Unsure how any of this made sense.

"I understand," Steve assured him, voice steady and completely, totally sober. "I _get_ _it_, Tony; I do."

"You…?" Tony asked, half tentative, half incredulous.

"Yes," Steve answered, squeezing Tony's hands, guaranteeing that this was real, despite how unbelievable it was. Steve Rogers? _Captain America?_ Making a Deal with a demon?

"Fuck, this is messed up," Tony said, letting out a bark of bitter laughter, jerking his hands out of Steve's grip, causing Steve to flinch back slightly, finally averting his eyes from Tony. "I mean, you kind of expect someone like me to make a Deal, but _you? _Captain fucking America selling his soul to the devil."

Steve's eyes snapped back to Tony's face, an uncommon glare on his face now. "I did it for a good reason!" he protested, a hint of venom in his voice. "I thought that you'd understand the stakes! What did you receive then? Your intelligence? Weapons? Fame?"

Steve had raised his voice to a yell, something that Tony'd never heard from him before. It was startling how quickly the mood had changed. He swallowed, letting Steve glare at him for a few moments before speaking again: "I – that was out of line," Tony admitted, letting any signs of tension fade from his body, trying to calm Steve. "I didn't – I shouldn't have said that I just…you're kind of perfect, you know?"

The anger bled out of Steve's face, replaced by a crushing tiredness, although he attempted a small smile, raising one eyebrow. "Perfect? Really, Tony?"

Normally Tony would have had some snappy comeback, but the heavy atmosphere of the conversation prevented him from saying anything more. Steve shifted, sitting cross legged down on the floor of the lab, Tony sliding down off his chair, placing himself next to him. They stayed like that for a few moments, the silence not exactly uncomfortable, but at the same time not without a strange anxiety.

"Why - " Steve started, but cut himself off, an embarrassed blush dusting his cheeks.

"What?" Tony asked, turning to Steve.

Steve shook his head, averting his eyes from Tony.

"Come on, you can't do that," Tony said, a slightly teasing whine in his voice. "Tell me! What were you going to ask? I hate when people start asking - "

"Why did you make a Deal?" Steve blurted out.

Tony closed his mouth, the slight playfulness leaving his disposition. He paused for a moment.

"You don't have to answer," Steve amended quickly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No," Tony cut in. "…you – it's okay."

He swallowed.

"I'll tell you. It's – I've just never told anyone before. Ever," he said, sneaking a glance at Steve. "But," he continued, "you have to tell me your story, then."

"That," Steve licked his lips self consciously, avoiding Tony's gaze. "That seems fair."

Tony nodded, eyes lingering on Steve before looking away, turning his gaze to the same wall that Steve was inspecting, his shoulder brushing against Steve's accidentally.

Now, where to begin?

"I was seventeen when it happened," he started, taking a moment to clear his throat awkwardly. "It was my final year at MIT – Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I was working in one of the main research labs at the time, working on a side project of mine, when I heard a couple of people fooling around. I mean, normally I don't really pay any attention to other people while I'm conducting an experiment, but it was distracting me from my work, so I went over to tell them to knock it off…"

Tony stopped, searching for the right words.

"I was still quite a ways away from them, but I saw one of them – there were two, a girl and a boy, both freshmen – grab some cesium that was stored in the lab. They'd heard a bit about how it explodes when added to water due to its electron structure, but they were going to use way too much cesium. _Way_ too much, and, I mean, it was the middle of the day, so there were a ton of other people working in the lab and that much cesium – that would make a pretty fucking big explosion, and they were also doing it right next to where we stored the hazardous chemicals so it'd be…well, it would be bad.

"Once I realized what they were doing, I tried yelling at them to stop but they weren't really paying attention, and Dean was blasting Metallica again, so I just started sprinting, hoping that I'd get there in time, even thought it was pretty obvious I wouldn't. And then everything just…froze. It was – it was fucking _weird_. This…thing, demon, whatever came up to me and started on about how it could stop the explosion if – if I'd give up something. My mind."

"Your mind?" Steve asked, confusion plain on his face.

"Yeah. Basically I can't control it. At all. I mean, I've always been a genius, and this Deal didn't make me any smarter or dumber, it just… My conscious doesn't filter any of my ideas anymore. As you can obviously see," he said, gesturing at all the designs for the horrific weapons that wallpapered the room. "And I _have_ to write them down. If I don't they…_fester_ and become even worse. There were designs I made as a weapons dealer that, even then, I couldn't bring myself to actually create.

"And even though the cesium explosion was stopped – well, the goddamned demon cheated me. More like tricked me, actually, because as soon as I agreed to the deal, the girl with the cesium dropped dead," Tony's voice broke slightly here, before he managed to cover it up, continuing to speak. "It stopped the explosion. That was our deal."

"That's…" Steve said, a look that was part pity, part pain on his face. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Tony replied, deliberately not meeting Steve's eyes. "As I said, I don't regret it. That may make me sound like a soulless bastard, but…well, a whole lot more people would have died otherwise. I just wish… I just wish that my mind wasn't spilling out these fucked up inventions anymore."

Steve was silent for a moment, processing all of what he'd just learned.

"I could burn them, if you'd like," he proposed quietly.

"I've already tried," Tony said bitterly. "You can't. When I tried I already had the match lit and everything – I just couldn't burn the designs.

"Like, look here," he continued, turning around to grab the taped up blueprint from a few weeks ago off the desk. "I ripped it up. Completely. But then I just had to tape it back together. This demon really fucks up your mind."

"But that's because of your contract with it, right?" Steve pressed. "I shouldn't be affected. I can burn them for you."

"That," Tony said, a calculating look on his face, "might work."

"Can't hurt to try," Steve suggested, a hint of a smile on his face.

The two of them set about gathering up all of the papers littering the room, gathering them into a pile in the middle of the stone floor. Tony pulled out a lighter from a drawer in the desk.

"Do your worst," he muttered, handing the lighter to Steve.

Steve had to flip it a couple of times before the flame sputtered to life. He carefully lifted a nuclear missile design from off the top of the pile and lit the corner, before dropping it back into the pile, the fire spreading rapidly as the sparks jumped from paper to paper.

"Thank you," Tony said after a moment, nearly inaudibly.

Steve just smiled as he stared into the bright red flames of the fire.

"So, Cap," Tony began, his demeanor changing again. "What's your damage?"

The smile disappeared from Steve's lips.


End file.
